Look, I’m done.
A sentence I said a thousand times and it keeps
lingering by my side, begging for me to say it, and for once, be sensible enough to
follow through.
I’m not done. I’m not ready yet.
Truth is, I’m never ready. That part of me has been buried for so long that it’s impossible to dig it out.
One being that the
soil has hardened, two being that I’d forgotten where the grave is.
There’s no chance but to march through it all
without a compass or a hand to hold.
It’s been going on for decades, and eventually I’m done finding a place to throw down my piling masterpiece of a baggage.
It
only carries my dreams in it, which is super light and sparkly. It weighs the
soul though, because it illuminates hope, sets high expectations and respects dignity.
It brought me places and made me glow, but I know that it’s not real and everything is temporary in this world.
By writing this, I wanted to remind the future me that a million people would die to be in your place, and do a million times better than what you can accomplish.
Let others have your baggage.
Let others who are more deserving to carry down that destiny.
It’s not a mockery, it’s just that it must have fallen into the wrong
hands.
And when
the time comes for you to say the final I'm Done, I pray that you can let it go and
give away the key.